


Maybe A Great Magnet

by irrationalno



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Pining, and general foolishness, schmangst, warning for talkiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-14 22:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13600197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalno/pseuds/irrationalno
Summary: “I don’t care about the gold,” said Goemon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampireNaomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi/gifts).



 

The scientist was putting up a good front, eating peanut butter sandwiches with caviar even as his assistant looked away in disgust, but Goemon could smell the fear radiating off him in waves. One of his men, the sour-faced bottle blond, signalled to Goemon. He stood up, Zantetsuken in hand. 

 

They were 42,000 feet in the sky. Luxuriously appointed private jet it might be— they were still 42,000 feet up, and if their pursuers achieved their goal, six people would burn to death in a relatively small, enclosed metal and plastic container.

 

As for what would happen to the even smaller, sealed and leak-proof container that was under Dr. Pischalnikov’s seat…

 

“But the pressurisation!” whispered the sour-faced ginger one in Russian. “This is insane.”

 

“He’s a real freak,” the blond whispered back. They were both unaware that Russian was one of the languages Goemon was quite fluent in. “I don’t even know where Boss found him. OK, it’s time.”

 

“Hey, yojimbo, it’s time,” he added in Japanese to Goemon.

 

Goemon bowed stiffly and went to the back of the plane.

 

The hatch sliding away gave him his first taste of freedom in a full week. Freezing air slapped him in the face, whipping his hair away. He stepped on top of the fuselage and heaved a sigh.

 

The jet was heading towards the Altai mountains, a part of the world he’d always wanted to see, especially three-headed Belukha. But this border-hopping job had mostly kept him cooped up in a succession of damp Soviet-era government buildings and a few cramped laboratories.

 

A buzzing sound was getting louder and louder. The first of the unmanned drones broke through the cloud bank, impossibly fast and sleek in the wake of Pischalnikov’s jet.

 

Goemon drew his blade. The world beneath sped past in swatches of intense blue and green, but on top of the jet time slowed down. The precise trajectories of the drones were calculated in split-second intervals.

 

In such moments, however briefly, he seemed to not exist as a person. If pressed to explain he would not be able to do so, and mercifully no one had pressed. All he understood was this: somehow he was an extension of the blade, his body a conduit for a force physics hadn’t been able to explain yet.

 

Hot debris fell around him in chunks of flame. Goemon resheathed Zantetsuken and tucked a hank of hair behind his ear, ritually declaring what he’d done to some insignificant objects.

 

The wind suddenly turned, and Goemon was left to pick hair out of his teeth.

 

Ten minutes later he climbed back inside the plane, registering the faint charge in his ear as the pressure changed.

 

“It’s done,” he told Pischalnikov. “There will be no more. We land in a quarter of an hour.”

 

“I told you,” said the blond thug. “ _I told you_.”

 

“They should lock him away,” said the ginger one.

 

“Would you like a sandwich?” said Pischalnikov, happily.

 

Goemon suppressed a little shiver. “No, thank you.”

 

 

*

 

 

They paid him in cash, but there was some gold as well. Goemon decided to rent a horse and ride around the park, around the Akkem valley. Because it wasn’t like he needed to return home in a hurry.

 

The horse already had a name but Goemon renamed him Gaisen in his mind after Baron Fukushima’s faithful mount.

 

For a week Goemon ran into almost no other human being. His long-ago lessons in horse care served him well and Gaisen was good company. In the mornings Goemon worked with his sword, forgoing tameshigiri even though the presence of so many trees was a huge temptation. Gaisen’s hearty appetite led him to the edges of his camp, where the grass was abundant and sprinkled with gorgeous wild flowers.

 

Goemon was meditating in the lake one afternoon when something flashed in his eyes. He frowned but didn’t open his eyes, but it happened again.

 

And again.

 

It was a man and a woman, dressed for hiking, setting up some outdoor cooking paraphernalia. Goemon thought they could be German, but it was hard to tell Westerners apart sometimes.

 

“Holy shit!” said the woman, or something like it. The man stepped in front of her protectively. Goemon noticed the watch on his wrist, and realised that was what had been bouncing the strong sunlight to his eyes.

 

“We didn’t see anyone else around for miles,” said the woman, still in English, lightly slapping the man’s side.

 

Certain past experiences encouraged Goemon to be wary, so he kept his distance, annoyed that he was caught naked and unarmed in a similar situation again.

 

“There isn’t anyone else around for miles,” he said after a moment. The woman’s gaze flickered south and then met his eyes.

 

“Well, then you won’t mind if we set up camp over there,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

 

“No,” said Goemon, feeling cornered.

 

The man had been following their interaction with a strained smile, and he now put his arm around the woman. “Awesome. This was the best choice for our third anniversary, wasn’t it, Rachel?”

 

Goemon vowed to stay awake all night. The radio was on in the couple’s tent, blaring old jazz standards, and the only other sound was the water lapping at the rocks on the shore.

 

Feeling restless, he went to check on Gaisen, on the edge of the camp site. The creature rested easily, looking well-fed and comfortable, and nickered softly when Goemon approached. Goemon stroked his chestnut flanks and stocky neck.

 

“Promise not to laugh at me,” he said to Gaisen in Russian. “I miss his face.”

 

The horse whuffled in his ear.

 

Goemon laughed at his own momentary lapse and patted Gaisen’s neck some more.

 

On the way back to his own tent, Goemon got shot.

 

 

*

 

 

He would never learn just how much time passed in the sparsely furnished log cabin where he found himself. There was a silent old man, and all Goemon could get out from him was that they were in a village named Tungur and that it was dangerous to ask questions.

 

Pischalnikov’s assistant showed up, confirming his suspicions. “We have the virus now,” he crowed.

 

“The scientist,” said Goemon, unable to remember much about the man except the peanut butter and caviar sandwiches. “You killed him.”

 

Sitting up didn’t hurt much, and when he felt under the bedclothes and bandages, he couldn’t make out either entrance or exit wound. Yet he’d definitely been shot.

 

The treacherous assistant laughed, raucous in the tiny space.

 

“You really are a monster,” he said. “But a stupid kind of monster. Of course, you forfeit your pay.”

 

“I don’t care about the gold,” said Goemon.

 

The ex-assistant looked surprised. “Excuse me? You don’t care about the gold? What’s this, an ex-assassin bodyguard having an existential crisis?” He promptly started laughing again.

 

Goemon was on his feet. “Why have you come here?”

 

“Business proposition.”

 

“No.”

 

“Hear me out. I’ve seen you in action. I know what you’re capable of. Especially when someone with a brain’s in charge. And I know you worked with Lupin III—”

 

“Get out.”

 

“Oh, oh. Did I hit a nerve?”

 

“Get out.”

 

“You’re a washed up prodigy, Ishikawa Goemon the thirteenth and last. You’re a goldfish going round in circles. You’re _over_. I thought you’d _want_ a change of direction.”

 

Goemon was now directly in front of the man. He hadn’t looked at him closely before, in either Volgograd or Novosibirsk. There was nothing striking or memorable anyway.

 

“What happened to the horse? Where’s my sword?”

 

The man laughed even harder.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

He was up, restless before dawn in the back of the shop. What woke him up wasn’t a noise, or habit, or an erratic flicker of fluorescent lighting from the low ceiling. There was a low foreboding somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

If he tried to trace it back, he figured he’d dreamt of gold. But the memory was fading already.

Goemon sat carefully. His shift had ended a few hours earlier and the next one wasn’t until the afternoon. An entire day stretched ahead of him, blank and bright.

Hidden behind a pile of cereal boxes was the sword, wrapped up in innocuous patterned cloth. He hadn’t needed it in two weeks, but he needed to feel its weight every so often, just to know it was there. Just the reassurance of it.

The ceiling lights’ harsh shadows slanted wrong. It couldn’t be Nagayama, the morning shift guy— he couldn’t tread softly to save his life.

A split second was all it took. Zantetsuken leapt to his hand, free of its disguise. Goemon turned to face the intruder.

“Long time no see,” said Lupin. He was leaning in the doorway, unlit cigarette held up to his lips. “Goemon-chan.”

Goemon’s face went hot. Lupin’s eyes, done taking in the interior of the storage room, climbed leisurely down his body. The messy ponytail, the button-down and jeans, the dirty white sneakers.

“There’s a job,” said Goemon, with the slightest hint of rising intonation, but it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

Goemon blinked a few times. He suddenly wanted to rub his eyes to get the rheum out. He needed to wash his face. And shower. Change.

No doubt Jigen was waiting in the car outside.

“I see,” said Goemon, resheathing the blade. Lupin shifted his weight to his other leg. His jacket was slung over one arm, but his tie was pinned neatly to his shirt and his shoes were shining.

“Well, then.”

“I will meet you outside in fifteen minutes,” said Goemon.

“Hmm,” said Lupin. “How bout five.”

Goemon stared at him. He was bad at reading faces, always had been. It led to trouble sometimes, but he’d never hated it as much as he did in that moment.

“We’re going to a hotel. There’s lots of hot water. Let’s have breakfast too.” Goemon was about to interrupt, but Lupin wasn’t finished. “Oh and I had a word with your coworker. You can leave right away.”

Goemon’s shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

Lupin nodded and slipped back outside.

Goemon picked up and folded the tarp he’d been sleeping on. Then he headed to the staff toilet off the storage room. The mirror confirmed that his hair was sticking out at odd angles and was already slightly greasy.

Instead of directly going to wash his eyes, Goemon started rubbing at the inner corners, giving in to the impulse. It wasn’t healthy, but it was ridiculously satisfying.

A new day stretched out before him, no longer blank; now unpredictable, holding only the shape of a loyalty that had become second nature.

Goemon quickly changed into the outfit he’d been carrying with him in an overnight backpack.

Lupin had broken an unspoken agreement. But that was what Lupin did, after all.

 

*

 

Weak sunlight crawled between the edges of the buildings behind the store. Despite years of working with Lupin, Goemon still didn’t find cars particularly interesting or worth distinguishing from each other. But this one really caught the eye.

He’d expected to see the yellow Fiat or one of the other regulars, ranging from workmanlike to showy but all hiding various elaborate arrangements for escape, shelter, entertainment and the occasional dive in a river or lake, in every nook and cranny. Right now, though, he was looking at an outrageously curvy, bright blue vehicle parked cosily behind a delivery van.

Lupin was leaning against the car, haloed by cigarette smoke. Goemon walked towards the back seat door.

“Nah,” said Lupin. Goemon’s hand remained on the handle, hesitant. Lupin motioned forwards with his thumb.

“Ah,” said Goemon, moving up front. “Jigen is already at the hotel.”

Lupin smiled and crushed the stub of his cigarette under his boot. “Come on, radio’s all yours.”

It was an inordinate amount of power. The sense of foreboding grew.

Goemon found a station playing an old song he loved. The music was perfect for an autumn morning, the male singer’s warm voice soaring over the chilly melodies. He didn’t really understand the lyrics, though. He’d taken some lessons in French once, but he retained precious little of what he’d learned, only brushing up on useful phrases when the need arose.

Lupin was looking at him, Goemon realised.

Goemon was aware that his taste in music was unfashionable. Lupin’s face was still unreadable, and Goemon found himself turning the volume discreetly down and simply looking away. Easy enough to do as their blue car picked up speed, joining the morning commute traffic on the main street.

They passed the flower shop Goemon would stop by sometimes after lunch, and the izakaya where he’d spent some of his evenings.

They’d been driving for over an hour, when Lupin spoke again. “Hey, Goemon…”

“Lupin.”

“Goe-mon. Mon-goe.”

“ _Lupin_.”

“Sorry for stealing you away like that. Without notice. Well. You look well.”

Goemon picked strands of hair out of his eyes, which were narrowed against the strong wind now flooding through the car window. He’d met up with Fujiko in Tokyo, and then he’d gone on a trip to Vietnam with Jiro. And then a bodyguard assignment had taken him further afield to Siberia.

That was all in the last year. He’d been travelling almost nonstop besides a two-month stay in Yokkaichi, where he’d worked as a forklift operator down at the port.

Goemon imagined telling Lupin about his experience in Yokkaichi. The people he’d met, the nuances of warehouse traffic management. The obscene ditties he’d learned from the other men after hours.

He imagined telling Lupin about Siberia.

He tried to imagine Lupin listening patiently to Goemon, perhaps as one would a child.

“Yes,” said Goemon finally, at a loss. “Thank you.”

“So formal. You wound me.”

Goemon inhaled slowly. He didn’t dare to look at Lupin, but somehow Lupin sounded… serious.

“You must have been busy too,” said Goemon.

“Kinda, yeah,” said Lupin, either ignoring or not seeing the opening there. “Fujiko emailed me some great photos of you guys in Tokyo. ‘M glad you had fun.”

Goemon froze in his seat. He’d been trying not to think about so many things, but in the end…

Lupin wasn’t wrong, though. They’d had a good time.

“Oho, we’re here. Here’s your key, by the way. See you soon!”

Lupin went around back for the parking, leaving Goemon on the steps to the main entrance.

He’d started looking at the paintings on the walls, and blocking out the sound of a couple lightly bickering over their plans for the weekend, when a young man approached him to show him to his room.

It was on the 15th floor, tucked away at the end of a corridor. There was a terrace attached, that looked out to the Inland Sea. The breeze had an immediate calming effect, making him almost forget that he was again on someone else’s time.

Not that he minded, since that someone was Lupin.

And yet…

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

There weren’t too many other people at the restaurant at this hour. Just him, Lupin, and a group of three businessmen a few tables down from them.

“So Jigen will not be joining us this time,” said Goemon, trying to pick his words. If it had been even, say, two years ago, he would have assumed that Lupin had had a fight with Jigen after the umpteenth time Fujiko doublecrossed them. But of course, the precarious dynamic between the three—more accurately between Fujiko and Jigen— had mellowed over time.

Those two were practically friends now.

And Goemon had seen it happen. He still tried not to think much about his own role in the larger scheme of things, or what kind of complicating factor his own presence created. It was somehow emotionally overwhelming, and in many ways he was still an outsider.

No, that wasn’t quite right. That was excessively dramatic.

A latecomer who could never catch up… that was probably more accurate.

“Jigen’s booked all the way to April. He is the best, but he’s getting old. He’s turning out to be a workaholic like Pops!”

“Don’t let him hear that comparison,” said Goemon, deadpan. It didn’t quite make sense to him since he’d heard that Jigen now only really worked with Lupin, but there some things he knew not to ask questions about.

He was gratified when Lupin laughed at his not very funny joke, nearly spraying him in the face with orange juice.

“Poor Jigen. You know what, that last American job we did put his name back on the map in a big way somehow. Did you know we have a fanclub?”

“A fanclub?”

“Shut up, you know what fanclubs are! It’s on the internet, and no one even knows Jigen’s name, but they’re going by sightings and there’s that old grainy press photo of us from, what, 2005?”

“Sightings? Photos?” Goemon was disturbed. It didn’t sound positive at all, to him, and he’d seen obsessed fans in action a few times. Like at a party Lupin and Fujiko had once taken him to early on in their association, where a member of a popular music group had shown up unannounced.

They’d taken advantage of the public and security ruckus to make off with the loot before schedule, but the abject screams of the musician’s fans still sounded in some of Goemon’s more free-form nightmares.

“Yup,” said Lupin, suddenly quieter again. Goemon nodded, and ate his rice slowly, savouring the quality after months of eating on a poor appetite and only to survive.

There was something else to savour. He’d rarely had the opportunity to be alone with Lupin enough to observe the velocity of his mercurial moods.

“I went to Vietnam with… with a friend,” said Goemon, turning his teacup around in his hands.

“Ahh?” Lupin’s eyebrows were up. “A _friend_. Good going, buddy.” There was a pause. “We never ended up going there, did we. I mean us.”

 _Us_.

 _As expected_ , thought Goemon. It was the reminder he always told himself he didn’t need, yet somehow, deep within, needed.

A latecomer, but still a part of the picture.

“No. Maybe someday.”

“Well said, Goemon.” Lupin smiled at him over his toast. A small, enigmatic smile. Goemon looked away, compulsively tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Tell me about the job. Who’re we up against this time?”

“Mmm, I’ll tell you all about it,” said Lupin, biting into the fried sausages with gusto. “Today I need you to help me with some research. You up for it?”

“Research isn’t one of my particular strengths,” said Goemon, puzzled now. “But of course I will help to the best of my abilities.”

“That’s good enough,” said Lupin. “That’s more than enough. One little thing though.”

“What’s that?”

 

*

 

Goemon sat down on the hotel bed, still in his towel, not caring that he was getting the fresh sheets wet.

The boxes had been in the wardrobe when he’d checked in, he just hadn’t looked. A white shirt and a pair of jeans. And he could see another item on a hanger— a dark blue jacket.

Goemon groaned, letting his head fall to the mattress.

Lupin was acting oddly. Goemon understood that he regularly misestimated his own perceptions of other people’s emotions, but the entire morning had been unsettling. At first he’d thought Lupin had quarrelled with Jigen or Fujiko. Then that comment about Fujiko’s meeting up with him in Tokyo that had stirred the suspicion that Lupin was angry at Goemon for… what? For spending too much time with Fujiko?

_But it’s not like that anymore._

Research might not have been one of Goemon’s strengths, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t put two and two together. He knew Lupin had a deep attachment to Jigen, and a deep attachment to Fujiko. He also understood that Lupin was very fond of _him_. But in some ways he was still the weakest link.

Balance was key. You had to keep moving, but at the same time you wanted to find your place in the world and hold it. It was what wise men did. Someone like Lupin could throw caution to the winds and still mostly win. He had the strength of will and confidence. But he was the exception that proved the rule.

It had taken Goemon a while to figure out that not everyone could walk that path. At least he’d figured it out by himself, and without making a fool of himself.

_I’ve never seen such a damn fool like you before._

Failure and stagnation were the only fruits of his pride. His own fears had pursued him around the world, only for him to end up right here, with no way out but through.

There was a full-length mirror on the outside of the wardrobe in his room. Goemon glanced at it as he tried the new clothes on. The jeans sat rather low on his hips and hugged his legs. The sensation was a little discomfiting at first, but then he found himself turning this way and that to look at the different angles.

He’d put on a wild variety of costumes over the years to disguise himself for jobs with Lupin. Always in a hurry, though.

“Knock knock,” Lupin sing-songed, punctuating his words with one single loud rap on the door. “Goemon-chan, are you done?”

He unlocked the door. Lupin’s eyes were gleaming. Goemon would not admit it out loud but he liked seeing that look in Lupin’s eyes whenever he was deep in thought about a riddle or a really complicated logistical problem on a case.

“All ready to go?”

Lupin had changed into jeans too, and a boxy brown jacket instead of one of his signature tailored jackets.

“Yes.” Goemon felt his face get hot again as he pulled his damp hair into a ponytail. He had the sudden, inexplicable feeling that Lupin was looking at him like  _he_  was a mystery to be solved.

“Great. OK, so today we’re graduate art history students on a research trip from our university. Here’s our letter of reference, and here’s your ID…”

Lupin coached him on the basics on the way down. Goemon nodded, committing them to memory, watching the scenery from the elevator because it was easier than looking at Lupin in his new jacket.

Sometimes he looked down at his new white sneakers. They fit perfectly, but then it would have been strange if they didn’t. He was the only one in the group who couldn’t tell someone’s measurements at a glance, and it was one skill he didn’t think he’d ever pick up.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

They took the train to the library. It was barely crowded, so they could both sit. Somewhere on the way Lupin had dug out and thrown on a pair of wireless eyeglasses, and now he was chattering away. Goemon sat back, enjoying the simple physical proximity, as well as the wild associative leaps that Lupin made so effortlessly.

“—And that was literally the worst movie I saw all year and I review them, right, so I see a  _lot_  of bad movies. Like it’s just irresponsible for a movie with a budget that big to be sending that kind of message about these animals. You know?”

“You have a point,” said Goemon, feeling a stupid smile bubble its way onto his face. There was a subtle shift in Lupin’s delivery, where he sounded even younger and more impassioned than he usually did. As if he was in character. Goemon wondered if he was doing it on purpose because he thought someone might be watching them, or just because it was amusing.

Several young people climbed on at the last stop who looked like actual college students. Lupin had moved on to talking about narwhals using their tusks as fishing tools, when Goemon noticed one of the college students staring at them.

Or rather, at  _him_. Goemon felt his ears pink up, which was bad because they were exposed, thanks to the ponytail. The young person had on a lot of piercings, and had stopped in the middle of texting, and was also ignoring what their friend was saying.

“Anyway let’s go watch a better movie this weekend,” said Lupin, placing a hand on Goemon’s knee. “Right, babe?”

It took all of Goemon’s self-control to not flinch. Lupin’s light touch felt like a patch of fire against his skin.

“Right,” said Goemon, as the college student looked away, back to their phone. “Yes. Of course.”

The hand went away and Lupin continued as if nothing had happened. “In a way it’s humbling, isn’t it? We love worrying over cute animals and romanticising the wild ones, but they all live by their own logic and they’re so beyond our classifications.” Lupin leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “And it’s always good to remember that we’re animals too.”

“That’s true, isn’t it,” said Goemon, as the train started moving again, bumping their sides together. Lupin’s eyes shone through the fake lenses of his glasses, as penetrating as his cologne was subtle. “Think of the misconceptions people still have about wolves.”

Lupin’s smooth mask slipped for a tiny fraction of a second, right into earnest. “Oh yeah. Right? They actually have such close family bonds and are completely social animals, but there’s this stereotype about the vicious lone wolf. And, I mean it’s crazy to think but right here in Japan, the adoption of large-scale agriculture had a lot to do with changing human attitudes to wolves and how dangerous they were considered…”

Goemon nodded, biting his lower lip to keep himself from smiling too widely.

 

*

 

A study session with Lupin was another novelty, but it proved to be something of a trial. Lupin was all nervous energy, fluttering from one shelf to another, thumbing down the spine of one book, then a different one. He pulled down stacks’ worth of volumes and dumped them at their corner of the library and spent a few minutes on each taking notes.

Goemon didn’t bother trying to help— Lupin never wrote down lists of books, the titles and order of reference were always in his head.

Goemon had an illustrated encyclopaedia on heraldry and symbolism open to the first colour plate, and not much progress was being made.

Lupin draped the jacket over the back of his chair and started reading online journal articles. Goemon made it to the next colour plate. Then he got distracted when he noticed Lupin twirling a pen between his fingers.

“What exactly are we looking for?” said Goemon, turning the page.

“Interesting coincidences,” said Lupin. He was sitting with his back to the sunlight coming in through the huge window to the east, and sometimes when he turned his head just so, the light would catch in his eyes.

_Interesting co-incidences? Why not._

Goemon put his head down for a second and soon found himself walking around in an animated landscape with Miyamoto Musashi as his guide.

“ _Think of the misconceptions people have about wolves_ ,” he was saying, conversationally.

Musashi raised his brows, and the high reeds parted to reveal a pond filled with ducks. Goemon crouched on the bank to feed them, but he wasn’t at it long before someone marched up to him and told him not to give the ducks white bread, since it was so bad for them.

“ _It’s not white bread_ ,” said Goemon, although he couldn’t see the new person’s face. He looked down in horror to find that he was in fact holding a palmful of white teeth.

The teeth clacked together like horseshoes and fell out of his hand, turning into grains of gold. Goemon supposed that he was meant to pick the grains of gold out of the grass and mud. He crouched on the bank. The grains had turned into large crystals, cloudy but iridescent.

The scene changed. He was now in some kind of dungeon, and his hands were broken. “ _Let me_ ,” he was begging Lupin. Lupin was weeping without making a sound, and then Lupin nodded and everything was all right.

Goemon attacked the man he knew to be his enemy with animal ferocity, sinking knife-sharp teeth into his throat. The man’s blood burbled around his tongue.

Lupin came up behind him and covered his body with his own, and now he was on fire.

“ _Lupin_ ,” he said, over and over. “ _Lupin_.”

“Goemon. Goemon!” said Lupin, too loud, and Goemon shuddered.

And woke up.

“Unh,” he vocalised.

“No drooling on the books in a public library,” said Lupin, delicately manoeuvring the heavy book from under his cheek. Goemon stared as Lupin proffered a monogrammed silk handkerchief out of his trouser pocket instead.

“How unprofessional of me,” said Goemon stiffly, red with humiliation. “I’m sorry, Lupin.”

“What for? You needed more sleep. Either way I didn't really get anything useful done,” said Lupin. “Let’s get outta here.”

They half-walked, half-ran out into the afternoon sun. Goemon was ravenous and still unusually sensitive from the intense dream. Lupin’s fake glasses had been folded away again. They stopped for lunch at a little café overlooking a small garden.

“What are we really after, Lupin?”

“Treasure. Time. Transcendence,” said Lupin. He’d propped his elbows on the table and his chin on top of clasped hands.

Goemon exhaled softly into his iced tea. “Understood. Just tell me when you need something cut.”

“Of course. But what about you, Goemon. What are you really after?”

“I don’t think about the future very much,” said Goemon after a moment.

“Who said anything about the future?” said Lupin.

Goemon looked up at him. Unlike in the library, Lupin had picked a seat in the shade. The server came by again for their orders, and Lupin turned the menu back to face Goemon. “This is gonna take me a moment, why don’t you go first?”

“After you,” said Goemon, turning the menu back around.

 

*

 

Fujiko had gotten him to go to her favourite sushi place in Roppongi. “My treat,” she’d said. “Since it’s been a while.”

 

She was moonlighting as an aerial camera pilot. “So tell me when I can watch the show,” Goemon had remarked.

 

Fujiko snorted. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Got what I was looking for.” She’d eaten the seared yellowtail sushi and started on the tea. “Goemon? You should give Lupin a call sometimes.”

 

He’d looked up too fast, only to see Fujiko serenely sipping her tea, and no more was said about that.

 

The next week he’d called an old friend, but it wasn’t Lupin.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Goemon sat on the hotel bed, the TV on but muted. His little nap in the library had disquieted him. That particular nightmare hadn’t recurred in months, and the whole day had been at once completely uneventful and brimming with a tension he couldn’t make sense of, let alone resolve. After lunch he and Lupin had gone walking again, Lupin pulling out an Instax camera and taking shots of seemingly random things.

The key word being ‘seemingly’— Goemon had to appreciate how cleverly casual the whole setup was, and thought he could see a pattern when Lupin took a lot of pictures near some of the parked cars. It had to be the car interiors or licence plates.

They’d somehow walked all the way to Nankinmachi, where Lupin used up the last of his film pack to take pictures of a cat sitting on top of another cat on the street.

Yes, it was clever how normal Lupin made it look.

 _Like two carefree art students out on an afternoon date_ , his traitorous mind supplied.

He still remembered, vividly and with some shame, the sensation of Lupin holding his battered body close. After so many years.

A loud buzz from under the sheets startled Goemon from a near-doze. His phone. The regular one.

 _how’s_ _ur_ _little investigation going?_

And that was Fujiko.

Goemon drew his knees up to his chest and tapped out several replies before finally sending one.

_It’s going well._

_that bad, huh…_

_I said well. Where are you?_

_chicago_ _. guess who i ran into!!_

Goemon smiled. He could guess. But he didn’t believe that she’d just run into him.

There was a longer pause, and then a series of pictures started appearing on his screen. She seemed to be inside a pub, in daylight, wearing a black wig and making V signs and pulling funny faces, and Jigen’s face was semi-visible in the bottom corner of the image. Most of it was obscured by hat. Goemon could see many other people behind them.

_i told him to smile for you and Lupin but apparently he just rolled out of bed and he’s kinda non functional rn_

_Isn’t it dangerous to be seen in public together? Since he’s on the job._

_what job?_

Goemon’s thumb hovered in midair.

_That was a joke. Is Jigen still smoking?_

_babe he’s gonna smoke his way to the afterlife_

_I’m Catholic, just say hell and mean it ._

_Jigen!_

There was another brief pause.

_got my phone backk from this ugly mobster scuse me... i gtg but keep me posted muah_

Goemon put the phone down and sank down on the bed. Still sleepless, alert.

The phone buzzed again.

_Get dressed we’re going out_

 

*

 

The blue car again. Goemon paid more attention this time. All the modifications had been blended seamlessly into the overall design, and he had no doubt they’d been done personally by Lupin.

“This is new,” said Goemon. The top was down, exposing them to the cold, invigorating night air.

“She’s one of a kind,” said Lupin around his cigarette, picking up speed.

“Where are we going?” said Goemon.

Lupin was silent, taking a hand off the wheel to look in his breast pocket, then patting his trouser pocket. Goemon reached out with his right hand, fished the lighter out of his pocket, and held it up to Lupin’s mouth. Lupin’s sideways glance met his.

Goemon flicked the spark wheel down. Lupin lit his cigarette off the tiny flame. Goemon replaced the lighter and sat back more comfortably.

“I wanna go dancing,” said Lupin.

“Ahh,” said Goemon. If Lupin had told him earlier, he would have politely declined. Clubbing wasn’t his thing, never had been. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle crowds— his line of work wasn’t very forgiving to those who could not.

But there had been that one time, early on, when they were in Amsterdam and someone had slipped him some MDMA.

That was one of the first times Goemon had seen Jigen really angry at Lupin. Well, first they’d just gone back to their hideout, Jigen dragging Lupin out of a private room almost with his dick out. The real aftermath was 24 hours later, when Goemon’s mouth was desert-dry and his heart was pumping so hard he thought it’d burst out of his chest.

Goemon remembered flashes of that morning, Jigen cooking something and chewing Lupin out, Lupin unusually quiet and perched at his bedside with a bottle of ORS. Wracked by a sudden depression and anxiety, Goemon had hated being talked about as if he was an errant child. Hated the idea that Jigen and Lupin were now on bad terms because of him.

He’d been eager to go his own way once that job ended.

“We can go somewhere else,” said Lupin, cutting into his thoughts.

“No,” said Goemon. “Let us go dancing.”

“It’ll be fun.”

 

*

 

_It’ll be fun._

Lupin said something to one of the bouncers, tilting up on his toes to whisper into the huge man’s ear. The man laughed, half in shock, and they exchanged rapid-fire greetings in French. The door to the basement was unbarred for them, inciting a round of curses and booing from the young men and women still waiting outside.

Goemon could hear the faintest impression of a heavy bass beat from somewhere in the building. It sounded like it was coming from underwater.

Lupin reached behind to grab Goemon’s hand, his aim true and his grip almost too strong, and pulled him inside.

It felt like descending into a cave filled with dim and suffused lighting that changed colours like crystalline growths. Panic rose suddenly in Goemon’s throat, but Lupin’s hand on his was like an anchor.

“You want something to drink?” said Lupin, yelling over the music, dragging him through the press of bodies. Goemon would never have imagined such a place in the middle of Osaka, which probably only proved how limited his imagination was.

Goemon shook his head, then added “No!” in an answering yell. Lupin still hadn’t let go of his hand, and Goemon looked down. Lupin followed his gaze and dropped his hand.

“You’re gonna love the music here,” said Lupin, just as the song changed. They’d stumbled onto the dance floor, and a driving beat started up with a bass line so sharp it seemed to pierce through the colourful mist.

It was the kind of the club he thought Lupin would have frequented with Fujiko in the past.

Someone’s elbow jammed in his rib. Too startled to make a sound, Goemon turned to see who it was.

“Sorry, sorry,” said the stranger in halting Japanese as Lupin stopped her from careening into him with one raised hand.

She was  _beautiful_. And she looked no older than him and pretty sober. Her thickly applied eyeshadow and lipstick gleamed as she stayed between him and Lupin, not too apologetic about the intrusion.

“It’s fine, you all right?” said Lupin, but the woman had eyes only for Goemon.

“New here?” she said, grinning up at him.

“I—That is,” started Goemon, and then someone else bumped against him, sending him stumbling into  _her_. Her hands fisted in his jacket, steadying him on his feet, and settled there.

“Relax, Goegoe,” Lupin said in his ear, and Goemon shivered, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

Then Lupin was gone, he knew, and the beautiful stranger was moulding her body around his, and it was the easiest thing in the world to move with her. No one was looking at him or judging him. The rhythm was familiar, instinctive.

He just had to keep moving.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

In Amsterdam they discovered that drugs affected Goemon a little differently from most people.

 

He dreamed fitfully. The three of them overstayed their ‘lease’ in the house on Reguliersdwarsstraat. Jigen was rarely indoors, and Lupin would sit on the rooftop with Goemon after dinner. Their house was just across the street from a popular café that hosted a live band every other evening.

 

“You don’t eat anything,” Lupin would say. “There’s a couple of Japanese places around here, so let’s go there.”

 

“I’ll teach you French,” Lupin would say, testing a little surveillance robot he’d worked on for weeks on the move. “It’ll be fun. I know you love singing along to those Françoise Hardy songs in the shower.”

 

Goemon folded his arms over his chest and looked away imperiously, only for Lupin to start singing one of those songs.

 

His singing voice was unsteady and unexpectedly sweet. Goemon decided he was justified in his second-hand embarrassment— that someone like Lupin would spontaneously start singing in a public place to someone who worked for him.

 

But in truth, what embarrassed him was the effect the singing had on him. The little robot whirred and clicked, as if keeping time.

 

Two days later Fujiko showed up. Of course, things never stayed the same once that happened.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

In Yokkaichi, Goemon fell into a schedule that seemed to be designed to numb the mind, living mechanically from one day to the next. It helped that he knew just enough about forging identification and convincing backstories that there was never a problem. And anyway there were plenty of other troubled and transient individuals on the docks.

 

He was sharing rooms with three other men he almost never saw, since they worked different shifts.

 

Goemon bought himself a new featurephone; his phone with all the real contacts and messages was in storage halfway across the country. Sometimes he’d stop by at the local net café and play some games.

 

Whatever else he did, he didn’t look up Lupin or the others.

 

He liked to watch the sun set from the top of the Port Building. Seeing the smoke from the nearby oil refinery stacks feed into the haze at sea, and the lights that studded the thriving industrial complex, it was hard to think that he’d ever been outside the country, or known anything else.

 

He traded onigiri for a pack of cigarettes from one of the sailors on a slow morning; smoked one from the pack after his shift ended. Not even all the way through— the taste was disgusting.

 

But he kept the pack with its stylised smoke and the dancer’s silhouette for another day or so.

 

 

*

 

 

 

“Oi, Goemon,” Lupin yelled from the couch. All four of them were in the same place again, in the hideout under the landfill. “Stop avoiding me.”

 

“I’m not avoiding you, I’m meditating,” said Goemon in an answering yell from the bathroom. A blatant lie, but at this moment he didn’t care. The bruises from their little fistfight were fading fast on his pale skin, as he’d known they would. Lupin, with all his miraculous, nearly superhuman luck, seemed to be taking longer to recover.

 

Goemon turned the tap on and started washing his hands, making sure to clean his fingernails thoroughly.

 

“Say, I don’t think seppuku would even work on you,” said Lupin, right in his ear.

 

“You think that’s why I offered,” said Goemon balefully. As usual he couldn’t tell what Lupin was really thinking under the cheerful expression and slight smirk.

 

“You’re so stupid sometimes,” said Lupin, slinging his arms over Goemon’s shoulders. He clasped his hands over Goemon’s throat. “I wasn’t ever going to kill you.”

 

They looked at each other in the mirror. “I almost killed _you_ ,” said Goemon. Residual shame still burned in him, and he knew the other three’s easygoing personalities and forgiving nature could not unwrite what had happened by the river.

 

“Almost doesn’t count,” murmured Lupin, pushing his hair to one side. Goemon tried not to squirm, but it was hard with Lupin’s little breaths fluffing against the skin of his neck. Instead of a parody of an earlier gesture, it seemed too intimate.

 

“Goemon? Lupin?” Jigen called from the kitchen. “Hurry up or we’ll eat your dinner too.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

“We work well together, don’t we?” said Jirokichi in Vietnam. Goemon was inclined to agree, since they’d done on a whim what local treasure hunters had failed for years.

 

“To think General Yamashita’s gold wasn’t anywhere near the mountains!”

 

They were sitting on the banks of the Dong Ba, legs splayed. Between them was a heap of mud-crusted objects. Goemon had cleaned the mud painstakingly off one, a beautifully shaped, solid gold replica of the Da Lat Buddha.

 

They’d gone diving in the green water together, tracking symbols on a tattered map Jiro had spent months trying to make sense of.

 

“I’m glad you called me, you know,” said Jiro, softly, wiping one of the gold leaves on his drenched T-shirt.

 

“It’s to your credit that you decoded the map.”

 

They’d used no special equipment. No clever communication devices or radar or computers. Cheap scuba gear from a shop near their room, a boat they’d rented from the local fishermen— those things were enough.

 

It was undeniably a thrill.

 

The first time was when Jiro leaned over the treasure pile, hands stained with mud and riverweed, and impulsively kissed Goemon.

 

Goemon felt his eyes flutter shut. Jiro’s wet hand fell on his wet shoulder and pulled. It was like chasing a shadow, or giving in. It was unfair.

 

It was good enough, until it wasn’t.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

It was a beautiful day on the Arizona—Nevada border, Jigen was driving the helicopter, Fujiko was screaming over the roaring sluice gates, body half out of the chopper, and Lupin was hanging off the edge of the dam.

 

“You ever get a sense of deja-vu, Goemon-chan,” said Lupin. Goemon couldn’t even glare down at him. Complacence was dangerous. Every time they’d survived a stunt like this meant another time they’d averted disaster, nothing more than that.

 

“What do you have on your person now, Lupin,” said Goemon.

 

“A martini glass, a radio and a bottle of sunscreen?”

 

“When I get you back up I’m going to kill you,” said Goemon. As if on cue, Lupin’s sweaty fingers slipped a fraction of a millimeter through his hand. Goemon ignored the tearing pain in his shoulder and tightened his grip.

 

Fujiko had managed to throw a rope down, but every time the helicopter hovered close enough their enemies opened a round of fire.

 

“The radio woulda helped if only I could reach it,” said Lupin.

 

“How?” said Goemon, digging his toes into the minutest depressions in the concrete. White water gushed through all the gates now, and the foundations of the dam were trembling.

 

“It’s hollow and my climbing gloves are in it,” said Lupin, almost talking to himself. Disappointed.

 

Goemon couldn’t feel his arm at all. Somehow it felt important to keep Lupin talking. To let him know he was there at the end of that tenuous connection.

 

A whistling sound to his left, then another. Metal connected to concrete. Goemon watched as Fujiko secured the cable, just within Lupin’s reach, and ducked back inside the craft. Lupin was already grabbing the cable when Fujiko started firing back with her Uzi.

 

At the exact moment Lupin collapsed into Goemon’s lap, safe over the edge of the wall, Goemon realised that it hadn’t been him reassuring Lupin, but the other way round.

 

He also realised, with terror, that he didn’t want to let Lupin go.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

One day later Goemon got off the night bus at Hiroshima. It had been impossible to decide where to go from Osaka, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was wandering.

He spent an hour in the Peace Memorial and filled his belly with roadside soba. And he walked.

The emergency money he’d rolled up in his socks wouldn’t last much longer, but there was enough for one night’s stay somewhere cheap.

Lupin had lied to him from the beginning. There was no job; there was no plan of any kind. He’d summoned him away without warning for no discernible purpose. Goemon thought it might have had something to do with the minute shifts in allegiance and affection among the other three that he couldn’t always make sense of.

At least not as they were occurring. Not  _on time_.

But things were more stable now. They had been for a while.

Meanwhile, Goemon could hardly, realistically demand to know every salient detail of their private lives given his own tendency to assume and maintain a wide emotional— and often physical— distance.

He thought of Murasaki, but she’d been a child and he’d been cruel to her. You could be honest without being cruel. He could see it now, now that it was too late.

It was evening again when Goemon got off the ferry at Miyajima with a throng of foreign tourists who were already peering at maps and phones to book cabs and find hotels.

He sat down on the shore facing the shrine, watching the light on the water. For no good reason he was thinking about the last day he’d spent with Jiro. They’d been sitting on the steps of a temple in Huế, Jiro telling him things about the history of the place that were utterly new to him.

_“Goemon? I’m boring you.”_

He’d been embarrassed. Of staring into space, the blankness he knew was written on his face.

 _“Of course not. I’m not_ that _nice, I would have just left if I was bored.”_

It was the truth, but as usual it wasn’t good enough. He could tell that Jiro was disappointed.

They’d gone back to their room at sunset, subdued almost into heatstroke. Goemon replaced the huge bottle of iced water in one corner, shaking his head as Jiro emptied the whole thing down again. There was a wilted plant by the window where he liked to sit in the evenings, watching the busy streets.

Goemon hadn’t turned away when Jiro kissed him. It was too hot for kissing, too hot for  _sex_. But Jiro had felt differently and Goemon… didn’t want to be contrary for once.

Goemon started walking again. The path leading to the mountain was lined with maple trees. He had to keep moving.

He found himself in a clearing. There was no one else there. The night wrapped around him. His hands were empty, but if he closed his eyes he could imagine Zantetsuken.

Goemon ran. The blade rang behind him and before him in a line of silver, swift and deadly through the old forest. In this moment he wanted nothing and no one. Tall trees toppled in his wake. Things were simple here. Elemental.

 

*

 

He was thinking of the view from the Eastern peak of Belukha, when he felt the vibrations of silent footfalls from up the mountain path.

He moved to draw Zantetsuken, but it wasn’t there.

“Here,” said Lupin. Goemon caught it. “I guess I shouldn’t be saying much besides sorry and also, hah, sorry. A bunch.”

“I’m the one who disappeared.”

“After that gimmick, who’d blame you?”

“What the hell were you trying to do?” said Goemon. He was inches from Lupin’s face. He was shaking. He’d never been more furious.

“I don’t know,” said Lupin. His face was open, earnest. Watching him  _hurt_. “I don’t _know_. I don’t always know. Even monkeys fall from trees, you know?”

Goemon could feel his nostrils flaring.

“A little birdie told me what happened in Siberia.”

Goemon fell back a step.

“Do you know how it feels to learn about shit like that second-hand?” Lupin continued. “I mean I don’t actually think you spend all your spare time meditating and training, but.  _Dammit_.”

Goemon suddenly found himself thinking of all the times Lupin had allowed them-- had allowed _him_ to think something had happened to Lupin.

“It was an accident. I survived. I am fine.” A beat. “Which of the two ‘little birds’ was it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Lupin was crowding him, almost nose to nose. It was making his eyes cross with the effort to hold, let alone challenge, his gaze. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything! You tell me nothing!”

Lupin backed off then. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Touché. I fucked up. I’ll own it.”

Breathing was hard and he couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t explain anything. He wanted to cut off Lupin’s head. He wanted Lupin to read his mind. He wanted…

“You ran so far and for so long,” Lupin continued. “I thought you hated me. I get it now, but Goemon. You see something you like but you won’t take it. What kind of thief are you?”

“Everything isn’t a game. You can’t just take what you want without thinking of the consequences.”

“What are the consequences?”

“I…”

“Goemon, I’m scared too.”

He blinked. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth.

“That night in Osaka… I don’t know what I was thinking,” said Lupin. I wanted to make sure you… I don’t  _know_. Lena told me you ran away after a couple of dances and then I couldn’t find you and I was so fucking stupid.”

“Wait.” Lupin would be the death of him, thought Goemon, somewhere under the anger. He had a headache now. “Lena? The girl at the club, you knew her? And all of it was just some kind of...  _test_?”

“No, wait. You think I’d push some total stranger at you?”

“I don’t understand you at all. I don’t even understand why you called me out from that shop last week.”

Lupin looked down, and this close Goemon could see the spiky little lashes, the tracery of capillary veins on heavy lids of his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious by now? I just wanted to be with you.”

“You—But. But you could—”

“I could have just asked. After ten years of being... being friends, I could have just asked. True.”

So that was what he’d meant by ‘scared’.

Had it really been that long?

“I didn’t even know for sure you were into guys until this year.”

“ _Lupin_.”

“You couldn’t have thought I’d judge you, Goemon? I mean, I’m. Well. Me.”

“It did not seem relevant.” Goemon frowned. “Fujiko told you about…”

“Forgive her, and Jigen. I didn’t tell ’em to spy on you I swear. They just got some big mouths on them.”

“How did you find me? Do I have a tracker on my underwear or something?”

“Aww don’t be like that. I don’t do things like that anymore! I knew you’d want to drop by the floating shrine. Very you kinda thing.”

“Very tourist kind of thing, actually.”

“You liked it before it was cool, so that’s fine.”

Lupin walked backwards a few inches, until he was at the edge. It could have been more dramatic if they’d been on a high open cliff, but Misen was the kind of gentle slope they could walk down blindfolded.

Goemon felt it before he heard it. A thick, pulsating noise, faint at first then growing louder. The air swirled on the mountaintop. Lupin was holding out his right hand. His left was in his pocket.

“This time we’ll go where you wanna go.”

Then the helicopter appeared, and Goemon was trying to figure out if it was being remote-piloted or someone was actually flying it, and Lupin dropped his hand, uncertain.

Goemon pulled him into his arms.

“I missed you,” said Lupin, voice low and rough.

Goemon felt his hands settle on Lupin’s back. His eyes drifted shut. Warmth flowed into him, and from him.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

The water was a perfect cocoon. Goemon floated onto his back to take in the last of the sun.

Though not for too long. Muscles pleasantly aching from swimming against the current, he turned around, letting the waves do most of the work on the return journey. The beach here was almost empty, except for someone lying under a big red umbrella.

Goemon thought he was still asleep, but Lupin sat up as he walked ashore. An old paperback had fallen off his face, splayed on the sand.

“ _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ ,” read Goemon. “Did you get some rest?”

Lupin’s eyes were bloodshot and he’d nicked himself shaving. But he looked happy, and he took the book from Goemon’s hand. He put it down on the towel and leaned up for a kiss, nudging Goemon backwards with his shoulder.

Goemon’s back hit the sand as Lupin straddled him. “You taste like salt,” said Lupin, dipping in for another taste.

“Better than taste like sleep,” said Goemon the next time they broke apart for air. They’d had very little time for it the past few days, between the two of them. Once past the surprise of Goemon’s choice of destination, Lupin had come up with a gruelling new schedule.

Or. not quite. Just in the sense that they’d gone around to a lot of galleries, Lupin especially cheerful every time they stopped in front of a forged copy with dozens of unsuspecting, wide-eyed tourists, and Lupin had bought him macarons from seemingly all over the country ( _I know about your sweet tooth, Goemon-chan_ ), and then they’d gotten into the habit of night running.

“Remember that time you and Fujiko fucked off in the middle of a heist and it turned out she was teaching you to surf?” Lupin was lying on the sand beside him, eyes closed.

“We didn’t ‘fuck off’ in the  _middle_  of a heist,” said Goemon, indignant.

“Did too, but what I’m trying to say is, I always knew you’d look hot in Speedos.”

“How… never mind.”

“You’re learning.”

Goemon grabbed Lupin by the face with both hands and kissed him with such force their teeth clashed.

 

*

 

At night the city was a tapestry of lights, mirrored in the river and casting upwards to their high vantage point. Lupin had been taking videos of local youth trying out their moves on the rooftops, and a few of them had stuck around, passing around drinks and cigarettes. Goemon was surprised when one of the men asked Lupin— albeit in French— where in Japan he was from.

“Rude!” said Lupin. “I was born here.”

“Hey, I believe you,” said the man, laughing.

“My dad worked with Raymond Belle, back in the day,” said Lupin.

“I believe that too,” said the man, clearly sceptical.

“Who’s Raymond Belle?” said Goemon.

“Some guy,” said Lupin, laughing too. Goemon offered him a hand.

And they were running together again.

“I never thought about it like this,” said Goemon on the Pont Neuf, “But it seems you are taken for a European in Japan, and for an Asian in Europe.”

Lupin shrugged. He blew out a thick stream of smoke, but an errant gust of wind blew it into his face instead of towards the river. Lupin coughed. Goemon thumped him on the back a couple of times.

“When you’re half and half, you don’t really fit anywhere,” said Lupin.

“That isn’t true,” said Goemon, wrapping a hand around Lupin’s waist, drawing him even closer. “I don’t mean, I mean—”

“Oof. I know what you mean, babe. I’m glad.”

They watched a boat appear from under the bridge, rolling slowly outwards. An older woman in a stylish blue bonnet stood on the deck, facing them. Noticing them, she held her camera up to her eye. Lupin put his hand around Goemon’s shoulder and waved at her, then threw her a kiss. Several people on the boat laughed, and a child waved wildly back at Lupin.

“Why did she take our picture?” said Goemon.

“Have you seen us? We’re stunning together,” deadpanned Lupin, tapping out his cigarette. But then he turned to face Goemon, and his eyes were serious.

 _I don’t want him to ever look away_ , Goemon thought, terrified at his own boldness for thinking it.

“I got something… in Vietnam. I got it for you. It made me think of you.”

“Oh Goemon. You’ve been carrying it around all this time?”

His face was hot, but maybe it was too dark to tell. He drew it out from inside his jacket. “It isn’t very impressive, but I had to get it.” It felt important to insist on this.

It was absurdly hard to buy gifts for someone who could have anything they wanted whenever they wanted it, he’d realised. Even harder when you couldn’t even admit to yourself that you were in love with them.

Lupin accepted the object in silence. Surely it was too dark to see it properly, but he’d gone with his impulse, and…

“It’s beautiful,” said Lupin. The little red wooden dragonfly was tilting gently on the tip of his finger, miraculously poised.

“They said it always finds its balance,” said Goemon, in a rush.

“And it made you think of me.”

“Yes.”

“I love it,” said Lupin. “Thank you.” Then, “I got something too.”

“Ah?”

Lupin took out his phone and scrolled and swiped a few times. “It’s from this week, by the way.”

There was a picture on the screen. The old man who’d taken him in in the village in Siberia was smiling at the camera, and standing next to him was a familiar chestnut horse. 

“Gaisen,” said Goemon. And then he couldn't say anything else, because he was trying not to cry.

 

*

 

He’d somehow walked back to Musashi’s immortal garden. There were no ducks this time, but standing near the pond was one of his own old masters. Old and very dead.

 _Jinen_.

“My training is still not complete, Sensei,” said Goemon. In the dream he was holding his sword. “I am not yet ready.”

Jinen smiled. “How long are you going to repeat that?”

“I don’t understand,” said Goemon. The leaves gleamed with a secret light.

“You know all you need,” said Jinen. “Trust in your heart, it is the source of all true strength.”

“I knew that, Sensei,” grumbled Goemon, feeling petty. All the books and movies had always said the same thing. Not very helpful.

“Don’t be afraid, my boy. It’s only life.” The man was laughing. “You will find your way.” With that, Jinen faded from sight.

The sword turned to sand in Goemon’s grip. The grains fell like gold, for a long time, disappearing in the grass.

Goemon woke up, sweating. Lupin had gravitated from the other side of the cramped single bed to climb almost on top of him. He was snoring lightly, his exhalations ruffling Goemon’s hair.

For someone who hated octopi, Lupin did a good imitation of one, thought Goemon, bringing his free hand around to touch the back of his head, the damp nape of his neck where the baby hairs curled.

“Nrrrgh,” said Lupin, licking his lips.

Goemon kissed the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go dancing one of these days,” he said, thinking out loud.

Lupin’s left eye snapped open, like a wink in reverse. Goemon flushed, caught out.

“Let’s. Won’t let go of your hand,” said Lupin, fingers skittering up Goemon’s thigh. “Promise.”

Goemon wove their fingers together. The curtains above the bed had been drawn together in a hurry, and only a single narrow beam of light now pierced through. It striped across Lupin’s face, passing over one half-closed eye, and laid against Goemon’s throat in a thread of heat. The dust motes hung like gold in the morning air.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> note 1: i don't even know what to write here except, @vampirenaomi i hope you like this messy cheesy unoriginal collage of a fic even a little bit. it's the least i can do as thanks for the masterpieces you write. happy valentine's day!
> 
> note 2: title pinched from kd lang's song "constant craving"


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